


Scratches

by Seraphin



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: CopDoc - Freeform, F/F, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:20:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphin/pseuds/Seraphin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tamsin seeks to relieve tension, Lauren wants to overcome the break-up with Bo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratches

**Author's Note:**

> Copdoc oneshot, post delinquents-ish: Tamsin hasn't died and is still in her former lifetime, Lauren is still with the Light.  
> Written before the fourth season aired, so not exactly following canon. Mentions of doccubus.  
> Hope you enjoy!

Tamsin’s snarl vibrates in the depths of her throat. Her fist connects with her opponent’s jaw in a sickening crunch, sending him flying into the rails. The sound doesn’t feel as satisfactory as usual. Not even the resulting groan, heavy with pain. On the contrary. Tamsin hasn’t even worked up a sweat yet and the boxer’s jaw is already close to broken. A cacophony of hooting and cheering ensues in the small crowd assembled around the ring in the gym as they the man stumbles out of it. They’ve placed bets, it seems. Pathetic.

 

There is always this electricity in the air if Tamsin is sparring in the gym. She gets a kick out of adrenaline, after all. But this is different.

Her whole body is vibrating. She can feel the blood pumping in her veins, her heartbeat resonating in her ears, pushing her on and on. She wants someone to punch, to kick, someone who fights her back, to lose her mind with while colliding with him.

Tamsin is nothing short of feral.

This anger is driving her on the edge for weeks now. She’s sure her eyes are spitting fire while she prowls up and down in her ring.

Then the next one climbs into it. A young Morragh. Maybe finally someone to spend her time on properly. He’s bigger than the Fae before, bulkier - and slow. Tamsin senses his weak spots before he lifts his hands. His eyes are small and brutal. Her hope evaporates.

He dares to growl at her, so she makes it extra painful for him. It doesn’t take long, though.

Tamsin judges the range of his arms for one more fleeting second, then she lunges forward. Circling him, her fists cover his head with blows strong enough to make him stagger. Her feet don’t touch the ground for more than a heartbeat. It doesn’t feel like dancing, though, as it should. It’s vexing. The Morragh doesn’t do much else, apart from once, when he has the audacity to try to bluff her into coming too close so he could use his size as an advantage. Tamsin spins around him and hits him hard, on the ear.

He doesn’t even leave his corner, and it angers her immensely. A Morragh should really be enough for a fix, a small one at least. Blowing off steam is her number one priority at the moment. But his defense is all he can hold up under the attack. Fight!, she wants to scream, or snarl, but doesn’t, instead her foot finds his kidney, unerringly as always. His breath leaves him, his knees buckle, and for just a split second his hands aren’t where they’re supposed to be.

A face flashes up before her eyes. The one she is desperately fighting, trying to forget, for weeks now. The hazel brown eyes lighted up, the golden sparks in them shining, and the corners of her mouth curved upward in the most exhilarating smile Tamsin has never really gotten around to conjure on those lips.

That’s it. Tamsin’s punch breaks through the Morragh’s failing defence like a sand snake biting its prey. Baring her teeth she retreats equally quickly, just in time to avoid the blood spurting from his nose, this time definitely broken.

It is funny, really, how the shouting and clapping can stop instantaneously. How quickly faces can drop. The whole gym holds its breath, it has been knocked out collectively, watching the Morragh’s head snap backwards, and his body collapsing underneath it.

The intensity of her hit forces him to stay on the ground for a couple of seconds. In the end, they actually have to carry him out. Tamsin leans against the rails and observes the spectacle through half closed eyes, her head tilted to the side, a lazy grin playing on her lips. Her chest heaves up and down. The attempt to conceal the lack of satisfaction she’s feeling at the sight fails to persuade herself. But fighting helps her just so far, the rest is show. She can’t let anyone see how much she’s clawing herself.

The Morragh leaves a dark smudge on the floor behind. The smell of rust and metal fills Tamsin’s nostrils. Her skin keeps itching. She wants to crawl out of it.

After that, no one volunteers to be her sparring match. She pushes herself away from the rails and prowls the ring for a last couple of rounds, glaring at the spectators. The crowd disperses. Fine. Her teeth close around the clasps of her boxing gloves, and she spits them out one after another. Climbing out of the ring none of the Fae in the Boxing hall meet her eyes.

So she starts to bludgeon a punchbag instead.

But that’s not nearly as satisfactory as a real fight.

The only thing she wants is to numb herself, after all, and that’s what boxing is for. Blowing off steam until her muscles scream with pain, from bruises or being sore. It’s more satisfying than alcohol. The ache doesn’t set in easily, though.

She has felt wretched for weeks now. That doctor had taken over her whole existence.

She doesn’t allow herself to think her name.

Tamsin has never experienced anything like this. The human’s presence is a constant nagging in the back of her head. She kind of crept into there without Tamsin’s notice, and now it’s too late to get her out again. Tamsin’s whole mind seems to circle around her at times. More than she wants to admit, everything turns only meaningful if it bears any relation to her. Tamsin finds herself defining all her actions relating to the human. Whether she would see her. Catch sight of her out of the corners of her eyes. Whether she would be near her. Hear that vexed voice again. Other stuff, the unnecessary and irrelevant responsibilities she can’t avoid, starts to make her restless and irritated to the point of physical pain. The affliction hunts her like a fever. Somehow the doctor has become a fix for her. She needs a daily dose.

She wants her, body and soul.

And Tamsin has no idea why. That is the worst part. The two of them have never spent much time together, in fact the only time they have been alone has ended in Lauren slapping her. Right across the face. Tamsin still feels her hand burning on her cheek.

It is ridiculous. And right now, Tamsin hates herself for it. This absurd, irrational, foolish obsession is eating her up. At times she feels like she is suffocating. That’s when the anger sets in.

So she snarls again.

…

The next time Tamsin hits someone she’s not wearing gloves. And she really intends to send him into unconsciousness.

It’s an ill-advised guy who has the bad luck to try something on her outside the Nirvana. The night is warm, the music good, the drinks strong, and the club earns its notorious reputation for bad ending fist fights once more, when the man can’t accept her No and follows her outside, on her way home, when Tamsin thinks the alcohol has clouded her mind enough to attempt to sleep.

The alcohol has also blurred her judgment of her own physical strength, it seems. He’s spitting out two teeth and flying backwards into green trash barrels before her eyes have focused on him. When they do, though, Tamsin realizes that she has just incurred a severe concussion, at least, on one of the Morrigan’s favourite pets.

Not that it would have stopped her. The sensation of his stinking breath on her neck would get him in exactly the same spot every time he approached her that way. But she has most certainly ruined his pretty little face for good, at least his smile, so the Morrigan’s going to be pissed. More than she already is.

Tamsin curses. Trouble with her is the last thing she wants right now. Her position within the Dark has already received some pretty hard blows, because she’s stupid enough to stick to the happy sunshine gang, against all odds. And to Lauren. She curses again.

If she hadn’t been occupied thinking about the human she’d have looked - and thought - before throwing punches.

If she hadn’t been occupied thinking about how she had been thinking about the human she’d have noticed the unconscious guy’s friends, approaching her from behind. Three of them. Tamsin’s retreat is hasty and bloody.

One of them actually gets his knife to draw an ugly red line on the side of her white blouse.

By now, she doesn’t even feel the pain.

It does come though, eventually.

The point is that by now she is so tanked (and maybe plus something more, she can’t remember, at least she’s sure that her intentions where absolutely natural when she went to the restroom, but there was a suspicious white substance around her right nostril last time she checked in the mirror) and her mind completely in shambles, that she doesn’t give a shit about where her feet carry her.

And that’s a mistake.

She ends up on Lauren’s doorstep. No, worse, she ends up ringing the doorbell. The feeling of the cold metal against her fingertip finally brings her back from wherever the various stages of intoxication have sent her. She freezes.

But Lauren is faster. Before Tamsin can turn around and flee, the doctor opens the door. Light from the hallway falls out and illuminates her silhouette against the darkness of the night outside.

The first thing Tamsin notices is Lauren’s hair. It’s messy. All tousled, and tumbling down over her shoulder – unlike Tamsin has ever seen it before. It’s obvious that she has just managed to pull the doctor out of her bed. At work Lauren’s hair is always neat, orderly, and shining nonetheless. But now it’s mussed up, and pure gold. (Of course Tamsin has fantasized about bringing it into that state in the first place, in the dark hours of the night – or with her throbbing head buried in her crossed arms on her desk at work. She’d never admit that, though.)

Then she sees Lauren’s eyes.

That’s all it takes to bring her back from delirium.

Half way at least.

There is a crown of gold framing her iris that shimmers softly every time Lauren turns her head in the light. Her pupils are dilated black holes, sucking Tamsin in.

Confusion is written all over Lauren’s face, at the unexpected sight of the dark valkyrie at her door. She frowns. The realization of who is standing on her doorstep trickles into her clouded mind, darkening her expression. The soft curve of her lips turns into a hard line.

Tamsin finally clears her throat, and flashes a blinding grin at her. At least she hopes it’s like that, but the expression on Lauren’s face tells her that maybe the pain has managed to sneak into her smile.

“Sorry to bother you, Doc,” Tamsin drawls. She stops when she notices how slurred the words leave her mouth.

Lauren shivers. She draws her hand through her hair, causing it to fall from the one side of her head to the other, and pulls her cardigan closer around her shoulders. It’s distracting. It’s also the first time Tamsin notices how little Lauren is wearing.

“What do you want?” she asks flatly. Still, her voice sends tingles down Tamsin’s spine.

It’s 3 am, I’m standing on your doorstep with enough alcohol in my blood to kill an elephant; that answer is really lying on the tip of her tongue; what the hell do you think I want? Instead, Tamsin carefully lifts her leather jacket, revealing the large red stain on her blouse. It sort of shocks herself as well. Shit. That has been smaller before.

Lauren’s eyes widen. There is definitely too much blood. All the weariness and confusion vanishes in a blink. The doctor in her kicks in. Without thinking, without looking away from the dark red patch on Tamsin’s blouse, she opens the door further and gesticulates her to get in.

Now that smile on Tamsin’s face is blinding.

Letting go of her jacket to hide the blood, she saunters past Lauren. Or at least she attempts too. But for some reason her brain just fails horribly to register the threshold. Tamsin stumbles before she even has the chance to set her foot into Lauren’s house. But at least it rips her fully out of the state of mental incapacity induced by intoxication. Her breath is pressed out of her chest in a barely concealed whimper. The sudden movement puts pressure on the wound. The pain, radiating from the cut, burns through her ribcage. Her brain is dropped into an ice-water bucket. The world freezes.

Tamsin’s hands grasp through thin air, desperately trying to find something to hold on to. For an instant it looks like Lauren would rush forward, help to steady her. But then Tamsin manages to pull herself together. She draws a deep breath. Her foot sets down again, she finds her balance. The moment is over. And Lauren remembers who is standing in front of her.

So the human just leads the way into the flat, her shoulder blades moving harshly underneath her thin clothing. It speaks volumes about the irritation Tamsin’s late night visit causes. It’s not enough, though, to kick her out again. Tamsin bites her lip.

Lauren leaves her in the living room, to get meds and gloves and the rest of her stuff from the stack upstairs. Her steps echo through the silent apartment. Tamsin presses her fist into her side, trying to stop the staunch of blood which trickles out of the wound every time she takes a breath, and listens.

So she gets a moment for herself. Her eyes adjust quickly to the semi darkness and start to wander across the room. The differences to what it has looked like the last time are scattered across the room. Lauren’s place has always lacked a certain warmth, that’s just the way it is with workaholics who spend too little time at home. Tamsin knows, it’s the same with her. But now the flat is just cold. And lonely. No open books, no empty teacups, no scribbled notes flying around anymore. Lauren has always been orderly, but this tidiness borders on sterility. Tamsin doesn’t fail to notice the empty wineglass on the kitchen counter either. She isn’t the only one having trouble with falling asleep these days, it seems.

From where she’s standing Lauren’s flat smells like a hospital. Until the doctor herself enters again.

Her scent is very different. There’s just a faint note of it in the air, but not too weak to not pick it up. Some sort of flowers… If Tamsin’s head wasn’t drumming that loud maybe she’d be able to place it.

The speed with which Lauren produced her equipment worries Tamsin, though. Lauren has obviously experience with bleeding patients in the middle of the night. It makes Tamsin feel uneasy.

She knows that what she’s thinking about carries far more dangers than she wants to admit. Lauren is so far out of her reach, Tamsin would have more success if she tried to get the Ash himself to run off with her. The light dark relationship hangs in a fragile balance. She doesn’t want to tip it by doing anything stupid with their favourite pet.

And the point is that she isn’t even doing anything. It’s just medical care. At least that’s what Tamsin tells herself.

Lauren dumps a pile of bandages, pills and other stuff on a small table, which she draws towards the kitchen counter. She sits down on a barstool and orders Tamsin to do the same – and to take off her shirt so she can examine the wound.

Tamsin’s jaw is set in stone.

Medical care my ass.

She is willing to lift her shirt, if she’s stupid enough to stumble into Lauren’s living room in the middle of the night she might as well make the best of it and let her take care of her wounds. But she is not going to strip for the doc.

“Tamsin, don’t be ridiculous. I have to see it properly.”

“It’s not that bad.” Tamsin mumbles, pulling up her blouse far enough to throw a doubting look at the gash.

“What did you do?”

“Scratched myself.”

Lauren crosses her arms. “I don’t care how badly you do your job, Tamsin, just let me do mine.”

Tamsin glares at her for a moment. But she does start to unbutton her blouse, finally. Lauren holds her gaze, arching an eyebrow. Tamsin has trouble, though, to get her left arm out of the sleeve. It feels like someone pokes her intestines with a pitchfork.

Lauren stretches out her hand to help, but Tamsin flinches back from her touch. It’s ridiculous. This damn imbecile at the club has managed to make her incapable of taking off her own clothes.

Lauren sees the way she struggles, and understands. She waits patiently while Tamsin solves the problem in her own time. Her face grimaces in pain, but eventually she manages to get rid of the bloodstained blouse. The valkyrie is not good with accepting help. Lauren is not going to force her. But she can’t help herself and says “Actually, that before was a lie, I do care about the way you do your job. Do it good, so no one else gets hurt.”

Tamsin lifts an eyebrow. “So worried about Dyson?” Her eyes glint mischievously.

“No,” Lauren says through clenched teeth, “you know what I mean.”

Well, who she means.

She grasps Tamsin’s wrist and lifts it up on shoulder height, so she can begin to examine the wound without her elbow in the way. The touch is completely unexpected, though. Tamsin tenses up.

She should have asked for a glass of water. Her head starts to spin again. The wound stretches from her left hipbone to just underneath her breast on the same side. Tamsin feels really glad that she made the effort to put on a lace bra this morning.

She closes her eyes.

She can feel Lauren’s fingertips trailing the outline of her ribs, though. And hear her breathe. And sense the warmth radiating from her. Tamsin’s world narrows down on the doctor while she cleans the bloody skin around the gash. They sit like that for some time in silence.

Tamsin’s mind starts wandering off. She bites her lip to stop it. Then she opens her mouth, but the word that escapes her lips is not the one she had in mind. Well, not the one she wanted to say. “Sorry,” she murmurs, huskily.

The fingers at her side stop moving. Tamsin can feel Lauren’s eyes on her face. But she doesn’t move, or even looks at her. Instead she keeps staring ahead, furious with herself. She wanted this to keep as casual as possible. Now her mind is racing, or trying to, the alcohol in her system still makes it hard to concentrate.

Finally Lauren sighs, looks back down, and replies softly “It’s alright.”

They are both not entirely sure what this apology has encompassed, but Lauren’s willingness to forgive Tamsin anyway ignites a spark in Tamsin’s stomach that radiates warmth through her whole body. A smile starts tugging at her lip.

Some part of her has hoped that Lauren would recognize that Tamsin didn’t plan to hurt her intentionally in any way. She still feels like shit for the way she tried to steal a hair from her. The human got caught up between the lines. Lines Tamsin has drawn herself.

Or maybe Lauren just wants to put an end to the conflicts she has with the Fae in general.

Tamsin flinches. The sensation of the antiseptic sends another sharp jolt of pain through her body. She draws in a sharp breath, and comes back to where she is sitting.

Softly Lauren murmurs “Sorry,” and dabs the edges of the gash.

Lauren is completely focused on the wound, so Tamsin finally gives in and studies her from above. There is the small wrinkle on her forehead that gives away how concentrated she is on her current task. Her eyes are narrowed. They are irritated by a golden curl which has escaped the rest of her tousled hair. The amount of effort it costs Tamsin not to push it back behind her ear is worrying.

“You need stitches,” Lauren says.

“What?” Tamsin blinks rapidly.

“Your scratch. Without stitches it’s going to leave a nasty scar,” Lauren explains. Is the corner of her mouth actually twitching?

“Well, then go ahead.”

For the first time Lauren looks up at her. Her hand still rests on Tamsin’s bare waist when their eyes meet. Tamsin tries to find those golden dapples again. The shadows make them hard to see.

“I don’t have the right equipment, nor good anaesthetics,” Lauren says.

Tamsin doesn’t bother to answer, she just tilts her head to the side, arches her eyebrows and holds Lauren’s gaze nonchalantly.

“Besides, I’m a light doctor.” The implication is crystal clear. By light law, she should throw Tamsin out.

“You’re a Fae doctor. I think I qualify as a patient.”

Lauren looks at the gash again and brushes the skin underneath it with her thumb again. “It’s going to hurt.”

Tamsin smiles. “I can handle it.”

Lauren bites her lip, which is rather distracting, because the way she does it makes Tamsin wanting to do the exact same thing. But in the end the doctor agrees.

Lauren ignores the way Tamsin’s eyes flicker from her eyes to her mouth and back, and puts on gloves, picks up some other utensils from the pile beside her, and starts patching up the valkyrie. She was right of course. It does hurt. Tamsin is used to it, though. She just concentrates on Lauren’s breathing again, only occasionally interrupted by the piercing needle.

And just like that, Tamsin stops caring.

She stops worrying about the Morrigan’s punishment for beating up her lackey, Dyson’s reaction when he sees that she has been in a fight again, whether it’s wrong and foolish to enjoy Lauren’s company.

She can’t help herself. She wants the human. She really does.

The stitching doesn’t take that long. It’s rather automatic for Lauren after all. And Tamsin is a good patient. So her mind starts wandering off.

Lauren’s head is still so full with Bo. She is everywhere she turns. She can see her even now, in the way the blonde in front of her keeps completely still like a marble statue, just like she had after Lauren had slapped her – for kissing Bo. But things had gone to hell. She and Bo had gone separate ways. Lauren has to stop thinking about her.

It’s just so hard to remember that. It’s endlessly tiring.

Of course she didn’t sleep before. Even though she tried her best. She’s well aware of the empty wineglass she couldn’t be bothered to put away before she went to bed, just to roll from one side to the other and stare into the darkness.

But Tamsin’s here right now.

Drunk, and looking at her in a way she definitely shouldn’t.

Lauren finishes the last stitch and pulls of the gloves. She bends down one last time, to inspect the wound closely. It looks very neat. Tamsin keeps completely silent, like she stopped to breathe altogether.

Lauren sits up again, and, somewhat reluctantly, allows her hands drop to her sides, finally letting go of Tamsin. “I’m finished.”

“Sure?” Tamsin breathes, moving towards her.

If she doesn’t watch out for herself Lauren’s blink will be setting off a thunderstorm in her stomach. Even though they’re both upright now, Lauren is still smaller than the valkyrie. So Tamsin is looking down on her, utterly aware of how close they are. And the fact that she can actually count those damn golden dapples.

And like ever so often, the last thought going through Tamsin’s head before she makes a stupid, probably alcohol induced, decision happens to be Oh, fuck it.

Later on she will blame it on the blood loss.

The surprising thing though, that knocks her breath out and almost – almost – makes her stop, is that Lauren meets her halfway.

By the time Tamsin has finished the discussion with herself, Lauren is soaring up, reading in Tamsin’s eyes what she is about to do, and crashes into her with equal force. She presses her palm roughly against the unharmed side of Tamsin’s rib cage, digging her fingers into the bare skin. She’s stronger than Tamsin imagined, and headier. Lauren’s other hand entangles in her hair, pulling the valkyrie down to her hungry mouth. The touch of her tongue against hers is greedy.

She’s nothing short of intoxicating. Tamsin answers eagerly. She draws the human in, finally burying her hands in her golden hair. She pushes them backwards, against the kitchen counter, desperate for every bit of contact her torso can get. Her tongue finds Lauren’s lower lip, so she closes her teeth around it. The moan escaping Lauren in response exhilarates Tamsin beyond belief. She doesn’t let go of her, chuckling coarsely into their kiss instead.

The next time she inhales sharply, taking in the scent of Lauren’s hair, Lauren returns the favor. She draws her tongue across Tamsin’s upper lip and laughs softly.

There is a point of no return, and they’re not so much brushing it, but crashing through it with all their might. They realize that when they finally break apart and Tamsin has to take a step back in order to catch her breath, bending down to press the wound in her side, and ends up unwilling to look up again, afraid of what she might see in Lauren’s eyes if she does.


End file.
